Lessons in Swordplay
by Timballisto
Summary: She was getting really tired of sucking at everything. In which Emma tries and fails at doing things the traditional way and mostly makes it up as she goes along. Father/Daughter bonding. First in the Lessons series.


This is the first in a series of oneshots called Lessons chronicling the various things Emma has to learn in order to survive in FTL. this one centers on Emma Swan and James Charming daughter/father bonding. Eventual Swan Queen

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"You're being stubborn." James sighed, shouldering his wooden practice sword with a graceful ease that instantly made Emma burn with jealousy. "You can't learn all of this at once- it takes practice." He shook his head. "I don't even know why you want to learn this anyway, it's not-"

"If you say 'it's not expected of me', I swear to God I'll kill you." Emma growled, smudging dust on her face when she tried to dry the sweat on her face with the sleeve of her tunic. "Seriously, did everyone forget they lived in the 21st century for almost thirty years? This princess business is pissing me off."

It was true, James thought ruefully. They'd been so busy focusing on breaking the curse that they hadn't realized how awkward it was for Emma, who had grown in an age of democracy, electricity, and running water to be suddenly transported to a place that had just left the Dark Ages. While most of the Storeybook townspeople had settled back into their own lives with little fuss, Emma had been almost comically out of her depth.

Court ceremonies and protocol most noble children knew from the cradle were beyond her. The subtleties of courtier talk and flattery just made her uncomfortable and the idea of actually ruling the country was terrifying to her.

"I don't want it." She'd said bluntly, when Charming and Snow had talked to her about the line of succession.

"It's your birthright." Snow pointed out. "You are of royal blood, you know."

But the look of blind panic on their daughters face had stopped any plans to go ahead and name Emma in their stead. They knew that politically, naming Emma as the heir apparent would give them a leg up in negotiations- she was the Savior after all, and almost all the nobility of the Enchanted Forest owed their lives to her. Privately, Charming and Snow both knew that Emma wasn't the kind of person who could deal the weight of an entire kingdom resting on her shoulders without bolting.

"In this case, I think the laws of succession are clear." Charming said, giving his wife a sideways look. "Henry is more suited, I think. At any rate, he has much more time to learn everything he needs to know." The look of relief Emma had let rise on her face was all the confirmation James had needed that he had done the right thing.

That didn't mean that she, as the only child of James Georgeson and Snow White and Princess of the Enchanted Forest wasn't failing spectacularly at 'what was expected of her'.

Something she had in common with her mother, James suspected.

"Come on, old man!" Emma called. She hefted her sword in front of her, shifting awkwardly into the ready position James had been drilling into her head all day.

And it had been a long day. James had discarded the traditional wooden practice sword after a few critical glances between it and his daughter's stature. Instead, the one he'd given her looked to have at least a third of the wooden blade chopped off.

Maybe this 'short' sword was why she was getting pounded into the ground by her dad, who actually looked kind of bored.

Emma scowled. She was getting tired of sucking at everything. Hunting? Nope. Cooking? Double nope, at least, not without access to a microwave. Embroidery? Please.

Fighting was the only thing she had been marginally good at, but when it came to swords, she just couldn't do it. She'd listen, and watch carefully when her father walked her through the blocks and parries, but the second James came at her with any sort of speed, she'd flail her sword around like an idiot.

Emma gritted her teeth: what was worse was that everyone expected her to fail at swordplay. Not because she'd never seen a swordfight that wasn't on a television screen, but because she was a princess.

Fuck that noise.

"Let's go again." Emma reiterated, glaring at her weary father until he sighed and gave in. God, she was starting to order people around like a princess too.

"Can't we go eat instead?" he asked, almost whining. He sounded a little like David Nolan, which kind of irritated her.

"Our designated father-daughter bonding time isn't up yet. I still have another ten minutes to try and beat the crap out of you with this stick."

"It's a practice sword."

"Whatever."

'Just think of it as a nightstick,' she told herself, her fingers tightening on the leather wrapped hilt. She hoped this worked, or she'd end up looking like an ass.

"Ready?" James asked. He sounded tired, which wasn't surprising. There was on so much inept swordplay he could take, even from his own daughter.

"Let's go."

Then, Emma abandoned her father's instructions; she threw away centuries of carefully written out steps and formulaic stabs and went at it like an insane woman. She treated her little short sword like a baton- ducking under Charming's lazy swing to deliver a punch straight to his gut.

The air whistled as it was ejected from his lungs and he doubled over, wheezing. Emma lashed out with her wooden sword to rap him on the knuckles _hard_.

"A hit!" Emma whooped, dancing out of her father's clumsy reach as he cradled his bruised knuckles. He didn't drop his sword though- he was too good for that.

"Play-playing… to your… strengths, Emma?" James coughed, his tone wry.

"Yup. A little dirty fighting didn't hurt anybody."

"Well, it's a start." Charming agreed. "We won't be asking you to duel for the honor of our country or anything- not with that kind of underhanded trickery- but t'will serve."

Charming smiled. _It'll serve._


End file.
